


I'm Trying to Find a Meaning

by ultimatebara



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Forgiveness, JeanMarcoMonth, M/M, demigod!Jean, vampire!Marco
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-22
Updated: 2018-09-22
Packaged: 2019-07-15 09:13:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16060043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ultimatebara/pseuds/ultimatebara
Summary: Eternal life doesn't mean a life free of regret."demigod!jean makes amends in a graveyard as vampire!marco watches in delight"





	I'm Trying to Find a Meaning

**Author's Note:**

> this was the first generator au from jeanmarco moth and I blew it like many other lmao  
> i'll try to catch up as fast as i can, but maybe september will end and i'll still be making many of the prompts ;-;  
> i'll make a series of these when i finish them all!  
> not beta-ed

Fate put a vampire and a demigod in the same place like the beginning of a weird joke.

 The vampire walks in first, into a café, and the demigod comes in minutes after. Their eyes meet after they order and the scenario feels like a painting. How long would it take one to ask the other out?

The answer is a few minutes. The demigod approaches the vampire with a polite smile and a joyful tone. The vampire chuckles and fall for the demigod as fast as lightning strikes outside the little café in downtown Paris, bringing rain with it.

If the vampire took just a few minutes of his eternal life to fall for the demigod, how long would it to take so the feeling was mutual?

The answer is just a few days.

It happened in the countryside of France, inside a small rented cottage. Their friendship developed to something they couldn’t label, but knew the meaning as they knew their own names. They talked for hours, hands lingering in soft touches as they drank wine in front of a hearth as autumn settled on the outside world.

When the first oak leaf fell on the garden outside, the vampire laughed drunk and the demigod understood what worship meant.

It didn’t take long for them to move in together, into a small apartment in downtown Paris, near the café they met the first time. Jean used to say fate had a weird sense of humor and Marco would laugh, trying to grasp what his boyfriend meant by that.

 

 

They walked into the graveyard side by side. Jean, always the romantic, had beautiful white roses wrapped in red paper in his hands while Marco had a small bottle in his.

They made their way between the tombstones as if they made their way back home; in a comfortable silence, but giddy for going back somewhere they felt safe.

Jean stopped and kept his eyes on the flowers in his arms, one finger caressed one of the petals. Marco tilted his head to the side and gave a reassuring smile to his friend.

“I’ll meet you up later.” He put a hand on Jean’s shoulder, squeezing it slightly. Jean glanced at Marco before nodding and turning around, feet taking him to the opposite direction.

Marco watched as the other followed an imaginary path between the eternal beds. He turned around and focused on his own task, stepping in green grass and stone as he went in the direction of his family mausoleum.

The night, warm and cloudless, didn’t hinder his way to the well-known building. He could walk those steps with his eyes closed if needed, the goosebumps dictating his actions with each inch he got closer to the place he was transformed.

He stopped only at the heavy door, pulling it open with strength he didn’t have before, but was used to it by now. Marco pulled a lighter from his pocket – he had to put it back before Levi noticed he got it - and lighted the old candles, illuminating the small place.

The stale air had its charm Marco had to admit. It gave the impression that time didn’t pass, the moments eternalized in stone and dust between those walls. He smiled of his own irony and put the bottle near the flowers he left the day before.

“I’m sorry for forgetting your liquor, dad.”

The beautiful orange petals of the flowers gleamed under the bright light of the candles, giving life to a corner of his existence that took so much from him. Marco put his hands and forehead against the stone, asking for guidance as he always did when visiting his relatives. He breathed the stale air, the dust and dirty smelling nostalgic even if the memory wasn’t pleasant.

Marco still had a few nightmares with the memories of that fateful encounter. In one of his visits to his family mausoleum, he was ambushed by a beautifully sly creature. Its gorgeous golden eyes and bright smile hypnotized him and, against his relative’s tombs, Marco was killed and reborn. He did place the flowers to hide the blood splatter.

He leaned away and made the sign of the cross, leaving a kiss in his fingers and delivered it to the cold stone. He closed the door and glanced at the sky above before walking back the path he made.

During the walk, he remembered Jean asking him if he would be okay going to masses being a vampire. Marco explained it wasn’t like the stories and he would not screech at the sight of the cross. He laughed when Jean confessed he was relieved to know he could buy garlic again.

He put his hands in his pockets, walking back to the familiar tombstones. He raised his eyes and looked for Jean, his fair hair bright under the moonlight. Marco found him kneeled in front of one of the dozen tombstones they gave to Johns and Janes.

It was the first time Jean went with Marco to the cemetery. A week before, he sat by Marco’s side on their bed, in their little apartment, and confessed he wanted to join Marco in his visits to the tombs.

The brunette looked at him and smiled, but didn’t ask why or what made him change his mind. They bought flowers, specific for their intents and chose a date to their visit, which had been the day before, but Jean had given up before Marco left.

The next day, he apologized to his boyfriend and Marco understood.

“They worshiped me, y’know.” Jean’s voice echoed and pulled Marco from his thoughts “I mean; they worshiped a really weird version of me.” He sighed and Marco kneeled by his side, tilting his head.

Jean’s bangs were a mess, denoting he was anxious. He always messed up his hair when he was anxious and Marco found it cute when not annoying. His whiskey eyes were downcast on the single flower near the stone and his hands fidgeted in the remaining ones in his lap.

“I hurt a lot of people because of my father.” He confided and Marco listened “I think…” he took a deep breath “I had a lot of anger inside me. Towards my father and… He… He being a god.” He shrugged, but Marco caught the way his shoulders trembled with shame.

Jean wasn’t someone that would disclose his feelings to anyone. He shook and choke and, once, cried, trying to talk about what he felt, what he thought. Marco tried to be patient, listening and trying to encourage the rare initiatives to express his emotions.

Those moments often ended up with Jean crying, humiliated, in Marco’s arms.

Son of the forest God, Jean had worshippers that followed him around. He told Marco people put their lives in his hands. They went to him asking for guidance he couldn’t give or miracles he couldn’t make. Jean admitted, he could make a few things, help a plant regain its strength and wild animals used to enjoy his presence, but that was it.

Also, Jean wasn’t fond of his godlike side. His mother, beautiful and kind, was killed by a fight that she didn’t take part. His father, married to another goddess, fell in love – something that Jean noticed happened frequently among the Gods – with a mortal. And his mother loved him back.

So Jean was born. And for most of his eternal youth, Jean held anger against his father. First, for being absent, for leaving his mother with a child to raise and second, for giving him the fate of immortality and worship.

“This guy” he pointed to the tombstone “He asked me for luck, once. I yelled at him and said the only thing I could give was disappointment, if he wanted luck he should build me a shrine.” He put his hand in his forehead and sighed, chuckling bitterly “Two weeks later, he appears to me with a little shrine.” He chokes on his words and Marco places one hand in his back “I still have it.” He sucks wet air and sniffs.

Marco reaches more and passes an arm around Jean’s shoulder, hugging him the best he can in that position. He smiles against the other’s hair and feels him shake, but hold the sobs that comes up his throat.

Jean leaned away and wiped his eyes with the sleeves of his shirt, looking back at the tombstone. He leans down and touches his forehead to the ground, roses squeezed between his lap and stomach.

“I apologize.” He whispers, “Please, rest in peace.”

Jean glances at Marco and reaches for his hand, squeezing it. He wished he could be like Marco, strong and put together, even if he knew the brunette took time to become as he was.

Marco watches delighted, as Jean gets up and walks to the next tombstone – skipping a few ones – and does the same thing; kneels down, talks with the stone and apologize for treating them with disrespect.

Marco tears his eyes away to clean a few tears that roll down his cheeks. Seeing Jean swallowing pride and grow with each step, he took towards the next tomb, warmed Marco’s chest and he let the prideful tears roll down his face.


End file.
